Let's Play Murder
by Queerasil
Summary: Sherlock babysits Archie. Both geniuses are bored, so Sherlock entertains Archie by telling him the setup of a crime and letting him solve the murder. Unbeknownst to Archie, the case in question is very, very personal. (Tags: Holmes brothers past, Christmas, the other one, case fic, cute but eventually gets sad, sibling death)


Let's Play Murder

…

Summary: Sherlock babysits Archie. Both geniuses are bored, so Sherlock entertains Archie by telling him the setup of a crime and letting him solve the murder. Unbeknownst to Archie, the case in question is very, very personal.

…

"I'm not good with children."

_That's an understatement, _thought John. _I once saw you give a child vodka as a treat. But Archie is basically a morbid mini-Sherlock, so they should be fine, right? Right? God, I hope so. _"Just… Try not to kill him, okay. I'll only be gone a few hours. In that time, no fire, no sharp objects, no guns, and no inviting murderers over to play. Understand?"

Sherlock nods, but he doesn't look totally committed. "No killing, maiming, burning, torturing, or kidnapping. Got it."

John leaves 221B with great unease. He promise Archie's mom he'd be well cared for, and Sherlock isn't exactly the ideal caregiver. The man can hardly take care of himself, let alone a child!

As soon as John leaves, Sherlock goes back to his computer to write a very important blog post about 182 ways to recognize a contractor by his shoes. He completely ignores Archie, who waits patiently for something to happen.

Archie is stretches out of the couch like Sherlock usually does. "Do you want to do play a game?"

"No," Sherlock replies mercilessly, absorbed in his contractors' shoes.

"Do you want to do something?"

"I am."

"I'm not," Archie counters.

Sherlock frowns, then passes his phone to Archie. "Go to the camera roll. Lots of nice pictures of severed thumbs and things of that nature for you to look at."

Archie takes the phone eagerly, but pauses as soon as he glances at the pictures. "It's not fun without you."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. Tedious sentiment. "What do you want me to do?"

Archie's eyes light up and he smiles. "Do you want to play murder? Let's play murder!"

For once, Sherlock doesn't understand. "What?"

"Like at the wedding, when you told the crowd about the murder and I solved it! We should do that again!"

Sherlock almost smiles, given the fact that that was a pretty good idea. He searches his Mind Palace briefly for a good case and finally finds the perfect one. "Okay. I've got a good one. Ready?" Archie nods. "Good. A man goes to bed with a cough. He doesn't wake up in the morning. What happens in between?"

Archie frowns, crossing his arms in a rather Sherlocky way. "That's not fair. You have to give me more than that!"

"Fine," Sherlock sighs, shutting his laptop because he obviously isn't going to get any work done soon. "Details, details, details. Clues, clues, clues. Evidence, evidence, evidence. Fine. Three boys, ages 10, 14, and 17. An empty house in the middle of the countryside on a chilly December evening; a strong East wind is blowing. Parents are out at a party, leaving the eldest in charge. The middle child is grounded, locked in his room. The eldest is in the living room reading, and the youngest child is in the garage searching for early Christmas presents. Just before bedtime, the middle child develops a headache and a slight cough. The eldest brushes this off as a cold and puts him to bed early. Twelve hours later, the youngest goes to the middle child's room to wake him up, and… Well, you get the rest. What happened?"

Archie steeples his hands under his chin and begins to think. Sherlock can't help seeing some resemblance between Archie and himself when he was younger. The cunning, the sharp eyes, the keen intellect, the outsiderness, and the social awkwardness.

Archie thinks so hard his face turns blue. Sherlock is fairly sure he forgot how to breathe, so he decides to give him a hint. "You can solve this, Archie. All you need is one more piece of information. Half of cases are solved because you asked the right question. In this case, all you need to do is ask the right question."

Archie thinks again before his eyes light up with joy. "What did the body look like?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Pinkish skin, bright red blood that won't clot, fluid in the lungs."

Archie smiles, he looks so proud of himself. "Carbon monoxide poisoning…? But that's not a murder -"

"Ah," Sherlock interrupts. "Anything can be a murder, if you're creative enough. How?"

Archie gets up and starts pacing around the room. After a few minutes of trying not to be amused, Sherlock starts following the boy around.

Suddenly, Archie stops abruptly. He spins around, looking up at Sherlock with morbid glee. "Faulty pipes! Someone tampered with the pipes, didn't they?"

Sherlock smiles, but it's a sad smile. "Yes, they did. Very good. Who?"

Archie wasn't expecting this line of questioning. He starts pacing again, faster this time, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until –

"It was an accident! Someone tried to fix the heating, but instead the broke the pipes in the victim's room!" Archie held up his hand for a high-five, which Sherlock reluctantly obliged.

"Very good. Any idea who?"

Archie sat down on the floor, crossing his legs in front of him and hanging his head in deep concentration. "Eldest brother." Sherlock nodded, raising his eyebrows. Archie continued. "Has to be. Parents were out, and if they were home they would've noticed something. Youngest was grounded, so it has to be the oldest brother, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it does." Sherlock looked down at Archie with a sad smile. "Very good." Sherlock turns abruptly, crossing the room to sit down on the couch.

Archie follows him eagerly. "But it's not his fault!"

Sherlock pauses, not expecting that. "What," he says faintly.

"It's not the older brother's fault. He was just trying to help, right?"

Sherlock nods. "Yes, yes he was."

Sherlock and Archie spend the rest of the evening watching murder mysteries and solving the cases within the first four-minutes of the episode.

John runs home, arriving at 221B just in time to see Archie solve 'The Case of the Beggar and the Blackheart'.

"Have a fun time," John asks, secretly assessing Archie for any injuries. _Not damaged. Not dead. Good. _

"I had a great time," Archie yells. "Sherlock and I solved tons of murders! I'm so excited; I can't wait to brag to all the bullies at school that I got to hang out with Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock smiles, and John is relieved. This adventure actually seems to have been good for Sherlock.

When Archie leaves, Sherlock looks a bit sad.

John sets out the dishes for dinner and tries not to pry. In the end, he succumbs because he really can't help himself. "You okay?"

"Fine," Sherlock mumbles, throwing on his coat and typing a quick message into his phone. "I'm going out," he announces, just as the door slams.

John doesn't even ask. He's used to it by now.

**Meet me you know where. SH**

_Any particular reason? MH_

**Do we really need a reason? SH**

_Be there in twenty. MH_

Sherlock hates hospitals. Really, truly hates them. Personal experience aside (the whole jumping off one thing was a major deterrent), he found them generally unpleasant places. _Noisier versions of graveyards, _Mycroft always used to say. Sherlock can't help agreeing.

When Sherlock arrives, Mycroft is already there, waiting for his brother in an uncomfortable plastic chair. "Why am I here, Sherlock?"

"Again," Sherlock draws a chair beside his brother, sitting in it reluctantly. "Why do you need a reason?"

Mycroft frowns, looking away from the bed. "Are you trying to torment me?"

"No." Sherlock, on the other hand, looks right at the bed. It's not his fault. "I lied today."

"Really, do tell." Mycroft looks vaguely sick, but his voice keeps its usual sardonic quality.

"I lied to a little boy. Well, actually, I told him a lot of lies, but this was the most important one. I told him I had a murder for him to solve, but it wasn't a murder. It was an accident." Sherlock keeps his eyes trained on his big brother. "He says that it isn't your fault."

Mycroft can't look at him, can't look at any of this. Not the linoleum floor, or the barely beeping heart monitor, or the oxygen machine, or his brother lying comatose in the bed.

Sherlock goes on, "I once said to John that hospitals are full of dying people, and that it doesn't do any good to sit by their bedsides and cry, but… I don't believe that anymore."

"No," Mycroft whispers.

"What I mean by that is… Well, it won't help them, but it might help you." _Wishful thinking is the best, least accurate kind of thinking_, Sherlock thinks, but he doesn't say it. "Just think about that."

Mycroft's words echo in the silent room. "I will."

Sherlock gets up and leaves without another word.

...

**I DIDN'T WANT TO BE HAPPY ANYWAY**

**NOW I'VE MADE MYSELF SAD **

**I love the dynamic between Sherlock and Archie.**

**I love the Holmes brothers.**

**I love the mystery of the 'other one'.**

**I love making people have feelings. **

**I hope I've accomplished that. **

**Hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
